Thrice

Some people believe in luck, some don't. Some people are optimists, some aren't. Some people believe in portents and omens, others are sceptics. Like they say, everyone is different. Which is not the same as saying that not everyone is the same, although there are those who would disagree!

Ok, so I'm one of "those." (Not one of "these" - one of "those" -- the ones who apparently always choose to be difficult -- as viewed from the point of view as expressed by the members of "these.")

Be this as it may, and it is, indeed, not as simple as it may seem, I am one of the sceptics who tends to argue about lucky numbers and coincidental events. Shoot me if you must, but I have difficulty in believing things that cannot be explained in terms of y=ax² + bx + c  or e=mc².

Jeanette believes that (some) things happen in threes, and that things frequently happen for a very specific reason. Of course, I shall not indicate whether I agree or disagree.

Recently, on our road trip around the South Island, we returned to Christchurch to complete a journey which was cut short four years ago. The visit included re-tracing our steps on our previous visit, as well as resolving internal questions which we may have had. I had not discussed any such "internal questions" with Jeanette, and neither had she with me. It was one of those occasions when no words need to be exchanged.

(Above): Among all the ruin, destruction and re-construction in the city proper, it was refreshing to encounter a brand-new structure within the Botanic Gardens, the all-glass conference and visitors centre.

Being 10:00am and not having had a breakfast yet, I suggested that we try out their fare, and have a bite to eat in the restaurant called the Ilex  Cafe and Events.

(Above): The revolving entrance to the Ilex through which a school party emerged as we entered.

As we were about to enter the restaurant,I was forced to step behind Jeanette, as we entered in single file to permit a little school group accompanied by a couple of teachers to come out. Being a bit in the "background", my view of the proceedings was somewhat obscured, but I became aware of a brief moment when one of the little lads turned around, ran back to Jeanette, and spoke briefly to her. Precisely who was speaking to whom, and precisely what and why, I did not know.

As the little group proceeded across the pathway to the lawn area, Jeanette turned to me, "Look what that little one gave me. He said to me  'This is for you'..."

In her hand she held out a single little bird's feather. A snow white one.

(Above): The little feather-bearing lad carried on walking, not glancing back even once.

Some of Jeanette's last recollections of her surrounding immediately prior to the onset of the earthquake four years earlier was the presence of dozens of school children in the Art Gallery, not very dissimilar to this bearer of what she saw as a symbol of peace.

I cannot explain why the little fellow chose her, or even where he had found the feather.